


Fear is an Ocean

by AlexStone



Series: Tolkientober [13]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Body Horror, Gaslighting, Gen, Rohan, Tolkientober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone
Summary: Éowyn and Éomer try to stop Gríma enacting a new edict for Rohan.
Series: Tolkientober [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948141
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Fear is an Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkientober Day 19 - 'Villain.'
> 
> This is a short piece from the perspective of Gríma. I think Gríma is a very interesting villain in LOTR, especially in how modern he feels. This leans a bit more heavily into Tolkien's style, while also borrowing some of my favourite horror themes.
> 
> Éowyn's speech was inspired by Julia Gillard's speech on 9 October 2012.

There is fear in the heart of Edoras. It was small at first, perhaps an unanswered question, or a doubt. A city’s heart, like a person’s, can survive a modicum of fear. Yet when fear is cultivated, allowed the fester and grow, it does as all living things and consumes. Fear, unrestrained, will eat a man until he is empty and hollow. What fear does to a city is so much worse.

Gríma understands fear. He feels it like oil on his hands, sweating out of his body in rivulets. There is a great ocean of fear that Gríma can feel, held back by a thin membrane of skin. Gríma sometimes dreams of growing larger than Rohan, swollen and translucent, until finally he bursts and drowns it all.

It is because of this that Gríma does not flinch when Éomer throws the royal edict at his head. He is grateful for the horse-lord’s poor aim that saved him from an unfortunate injury. He is not scared of Éomer, nor his sister. Theirs are the exasperations of children, and he will rise above it.

“You would double our farmers taxation, strip them of the protections they have as citizens of Rohan, and leave their fields open for pillaging and bandits?” Éomer snarled, flanking his sister with hackles raised, “this is too far Wormtongue, even for you.”

Gríma picked up the edict and returned it to its place on the council table. He felt the shifting ocean under his feet. “King Théoden is redistributing the wealth of his kingdom,” he said, gesturing to the assembled lords, “long has Edoras lacked the resource to achieve its true greatness. This edict, while painful for some, is a necessary sacrifice that all loyal subjects will gladly make.” 

Éomer swore loudly and took a few paces around the room. Éowyn did not move from her seat, her eyes locked on Gríma like a hawk. Gríma would need to be careful of her.

“Lady Éowyn, you show fealty to your uncle,” Gríma traced a small circle on the table with his finger, “perhaps you convince your brother of the better virtues of loyalty.”

Éowyn looked at Gríma. For a moment, Gríma felt as a rabbit might, in the instant before a falcon dives and plucks it from the ground. He had underestimated the shield-maiden, and he did so at his own peril.

“No. I will not be lectured about loyalty by this man,” Éowyn stood to address the court and, Gríma imagined, a shroud of ice depended upon the hall of the king, “this man who knows nothing of loyalty. This man who feasts on the scraps of other men. Better men. I have known young girls with more bravery than you, worm, and my brother’s most shameful day will still be more prideful than your entire life. You would speak to us of sacrifice, and Rohan, but you have never understood that our kingdom’s wealth is our people, and their freedom. No, if this man wants to see the face of disloyalty, he doesn’t need an edict. He needs a mirror.”

A chill fell over the room as lords began to murmur to each other. Gríma’s eyes flashed from one side of the court to the other. He felt so thin, as a roiling tide began to slouch hungrily inside his body. He calmed himself, and turned to the king.

Théoden sat gaunt, his eyes a milky white. The king barely spoke at council meetings anymore, instead letting Gríma hold court and decided the order of business. Gríma often resented having to drag the man from his bedchamber, dressing him in tired robes and cleaning sick from his mouth. Yet he knew, especially in moments such as these, that he needed a trump card.

“What say you, King Théoden?” Gríma purred, soft and delicate as he could muster.

Théoden looked out across his hall. It had become so dark of late. He hated sitting here, in the cold and the darkness. He saw shapes, horrible shapes, moving in the darkness, creatures with many limbs scuttling and crawling beyond his sight. He longed to be back in his chamber, with the door locked and the fire raging. He thought he saw his niece, but that was not her face. No, one of the creatures was wearing Éowyn’s face.

“Gríma is right,” Théoden croaked, “this law will bring loyalty to Rohan.”

Gríma felt a smile pull at the corner of his lips. “Very wise, my King,” he whispered, before turning to Éowyn. He saw the colour drain from her’s and Éomer’s faces. Éomer muttered something under his breath, and Gríma saw his hand twitch towards his sword hilt. Éowyn put a hand on her brother’s arm, her eyes fixed on her uncle. 

“This matter has taken up too much of the King’s time,” Gríma announced to the court, “we consider it decided. Distribute the notice to your fiefdoms and sheriffs. Long live the King!” 

A murmur of agreement swept across the hall as the dignitaries filed out. Gríma led Théoden towards his chamber, before he was stopped by Éowyn and Éomer.

“Uncle, can’t you see what he’s doing to us?” Éomer’s voice cracked under the weight of emotion.

All eyes turned to Théoden, but the King’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor. If he didn’t look at the creatures they wouldn’t see him. They couldn’t wear him as they wore the faces of his nephew and niece. The king trembled as Gríma turned to the siblings.

“Haven’t you done enough?” he scowled, “the King is in pain and yet you taunt him still.”

Gríma pushed past Éomer with the ailing King. Éowyn shot out a hand and grabbed Gríma by the arm.

“We aren’t scared of you,” she said, face brimming with fury.

Gríma prised his arm free of Éowyn’s grip. “I don’t need you to be,” he said softly, unable to resist the taste of his own victory.

Gríma led King Théoden through the halls and corridors of Edoras, dark as they were. Fear clung to the walls like mildew, soft at first, but now Gríma saw its beautiful flowering across the whole of Rohan. The nation was rotten with fear, pulsating in spores and tendrils from the dark halls of Edoras. Gríma closed the King’s door behind him, and inhaled deeply. He could smell the ocean rising, and feel his skin stretching outwards.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at @AlexStoneWriter! Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> You can find the full list of Tolkientober prompts here: https://twitter.com/hobbitgay/status/1311350783238045696


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